I have just started writing this, so updates may be a little more spread
out than the last ones. As always, same disclaimer applies.
Introduction:
From underneath a thick charcoal hood, Sieca stared out of the small opening to the cave on the cliffs. It felt as though it had taken her an eternity to find this place, but she had finally found the Ivory Temple, the prison and the shrine that encased the answers she needed. She looked on, a mixture of sorrow and comic irony filling her jaded eyes. How could this have happened? She shook her head, there was no sense in dwelling on the past. Not now – there was so much that needed to be done. So much with so little time, time she felt, that was quickly slipping through her fingers. Her lips curled in a humorless smile, the comedy never reaching her eyes. Sighing, she stepped back into the cavern, toward the fire to warm herself. A large black wolf gazed back up at her for a moment, then walked toward the entrance to the cave and sat staring out into the cold night, as if keeping watch for some unknown foe, lest it venture into their alcove.
Sieca shivered, and whispered a word that would raise the fire a little higher, warm the cavern a little faster. She pulled her cloak a little tighter and settled down to warm herself. The visions she had lately disturbed her, but nothing would keep her from her goal, not even him, the Lord of Goblins. So long ago they had shared a friendship, but now, what was she to make of all that had transgressed? Her half-brother left for dead in some shrine to the Goddess, her once dear friend betrothed to a mortal woman some were saying was the reincarnation of Illianna herself, and now the prophecy of the sun had weaved itself into her visions, into her life. None of it made sense, and the more she thought on it, the more her head spun. Truly Stark had always dabbled in the darker side, with a father like theirs it was almost inevitable, thankfully she had been spared, by Stark's hand no less, but how could he have deserved the punishment rendered by the Goblin King – and over a mortal? She lay on her side and gazed into the depths of the fire. Who was she to judge after all? She was the bastard daughter of rapist Fae who had once brutally taken his pleasure from what mortals would have called an Angel, in appearances at least. The mere thought caused Sieca to shiver inside, she had thought Stark had taken a different path when he had saved her, but things were not always what they seemed in the Underground. She had not seen him in nearly twenty-five years, and before that, it was rare that she saw him at all after that single night she now tried so hard to forget.
Sieca took one last look over her shoulder to the cave entrance where Rissick stood a solitary guard, staring into the falling snow. Winter had crept in early this year, and its bitter cold was sharper than any in the Underground had felt in a hundred years. Staring into the orange and red twisting fire, Sieca tranced, for her people did not sleep, and the nightmare visions once more overtook her mind.
She ran blindly through the forest, trees ripped at her legs and arms, scratching her face. Rissick raced beside her growling and snapping at the trees, but even his thick wolfen fur could not stop the branches from tearing at his muzzle and one of his eyes oozed from a deep cut. The pair ran, following no path. Before she realized what had happened, Sieca was running alone, a deep howl rang through the fog and darkness, and she knew Rissick was gone. Salt stung her eyes, but there was no time for emotion as she raced on, pushing through the darkness. Without warning, the grasping trees stopped, and she ran full into a marshy clearing, falling to her knees, splashing fetid water onto her frail and bleeding form. The thick, foul sludge was enough to make her eyes water and nearly caused her to wretch. She pulled her head up and stared in disbelief at the scene before her eyes. Her dear friend, her once childhood love, held the bloodied body of a dark haired, inhumanly beautiful woman in his arms, a wicked smile curling about his lips. He dropped her form unceremoniously, and stalked toward Sieca. Defiantly she raised her chin, her deep green eyes meeting his cold orbs. Orbs that were both steel gray.
Confusion pierced her mind, too many things did not make sense. Had this Jareth killed the mortal woman now at his feet? Why were his eyes both gray? What was he doing standing in the middle of a marsh in Goddess knows where? Her thoughts were cut short, he was upon her. "Tell me my sweet little Sieca, do you still cry for your mother? Do you still dream of your father? Do you honestly think of me, Jareth, Lord of the Labyrinth, as a kind and generous ruler? Sieca, Sieca, Sieca, what the Labyrinth wants, the Labyrinth gets." Her mind reeled. His voice wasn't right, it was harder, darker, more of a rasp than Jareth's elegant speech, though she had not heard his voice since she was so very young, she would never forget his elegant speech – no, something was amiss. He gripped her chin in his black gloved hands roughly, hands that were slick with the blood of the woman who now lay crumbled at the base of a tree. For the first time, she noticed the tree, a twisting malformed unnatural thing, blacker than the pitch of the night, it stood against the darkness as a shadow of midnight. "I will tell you a secret, pet. Staring into the heart of darkness is a sure way to be consumed by it. But if you're good, I won't let it hurt you too much." Kissing her forehead, the Jareth-like fae strode back to the tree, and placed his hands upon it. Whisping smoke trailed itself from the twisted branches of the deadened formation and wound thick tendrils around the man, finding their way into his mouth in a sickly ethereal kiss. All Sieca could do was take in the ghastly scene, shock and horror etched across her face, as the creature turned back to face her full.
"Oh you are so naughty, sister, so naughty indeed. Why didn't you tell me? Tsk tsk tsk." As it walked towards her, Sieca's horror was complete. The veins running the length of the Jareth's neck and face were all ink black, creating the appearance of cracked flesh, and where once cold eyes has stared back at her, now only pools of darkness bored into her. The ground she knelt upon began to solidify under her, locking her in place. "The prophecy, you are weaved into it somehow. Now we cannot have that, can we? Pity." He reached her, staring down at her prone form, he smiled wickedly, lifeless orbs locked with hers. In his hand, a crystal appeared, the color of polished steel, he turned it once and in its place, a bone dagger appeared. He sank to her level, staring her in the eyes, brandishing the edge of the alabaster blade.
In a flash, he was knocked back, Rissick tearing at his clothing, the giant wolf's fangs tearing into the shoulder of the Jareth. The friend she thought dead had bought her time. Struggling to free herself, Sieca wrenched her right arm free of the quagmire and prepared to call forth a spell that would aid her wounded friend who was losing the fight, growing weaker by the moment. As she prepared to cast the spell, the world darkened around her, the only thing left visible, was tree, blacker than darkness, the shadow of mindnight.
Sieca awoke in a cold sweat, Rissick beside her, his icy eyes remaining fixed on the entrance to the cave. With a deep sigh, she sat up, pulling her cloak tighter. The dreams were becoming more frequent, more real. Somehow or another, she was tied to this, tied to Jareth, to the unearthly beautiful mortal woman, and to whatever that thing was. Now all she had to do was sort everything out. Things were never as they seemed in this place, and good and evil were simply a matter of perspective. She rose, keeping her cloak tight to fight off the chill, and walked to the entrance, Rissick beside her. She looked down upon the ivory temple, resolution transfixed in her gaze. One way or another, tomorrow she would get her answers.
Introduction:
From underneath a thick charcoal hood, Sieca stared out of the small opening to the cave on the cliffs. It felt as though it had taken her an eternity to find this place, but she had finally found the Ivory Temple, the prison and the shrine that encased the answers she needed. She looked on, a mixture of sorrow and comic irony filling her jaded eyes. How could this have happened? She shook her head, there was no sense in dwelling on the past. Not now – there was so much that needed to be done. So much with so little time, time she felt, that was quickly slipping through her fingers. Her lips curled in a humorless smile, the comedy never reaching her eyes. Sighing, she stepped back into the cavern, toward the fire to warm herself. A large black wolf gazed back up at her for a moment, then walked toward the entrance to the cave and sat staring out into the cold night, as if keeping watch for some unknown foe, lest it venture into their alcove.
Sieca shivered, and whispered a word that would raise the fire a little higher, warm the cavern a little faster. She pulled her cloak a little tighter and settled down to warm herself. The visions she had lately disturbed her, but nothing would keep her from her goal, not even him, the Lord of Goblins. So long ago they had shared a friendship, but now, what was she to make of all that had transgressed? Her half-brother left for dead in some shrine to the Goddess, her once dear friend betrothed to a mortal woman some were saying was the reincarnation of Illianna herself, and now the prophecy of the sun had weaved itself into her visions, into her life. None of it made sense, and the more she thought on it, the more her head spun. Truly Stark had always dabbled in the darker side, with a father like theirs it was almost inevitable, thankfully she had been spared, by Stark's hand no less, but how could he have deserved the punishment rendered by the Goblin King – and over a mortal? She lay on her side and gazed into the depths of the fire. Who was she to judge after all? She was the bastard daughter of rapist Fae who had once brutally taken his pleasure from what mortals would have called an Angel, in appearances at least. The mere thought caused Sieca to shiver inside, she had thought Stark had taken a different path when he had saved her, but things were not always what they seemed in the Underground. She had not seen him in nearly twenty-five years, and before that, it was rare that she saw him at all after that single night she now tried so hard to forget.
Sieca took one last look over her shoulder to the cave entrance where Rissick stood a solitary guard, staring into the falling snow. Winter had crept in early this year, and its bitter cold was sharper than any in the Underground had felt in a hundred years. Staring into the orange and red twisting fire, Sieca tranced, for her people did not sleep, and the nightmare visions once more overtook her mind.
She ran blindly through the forest, trees ripped at her legs and arms, scratching her face. Rissick raced beside her growling and snapping at the trees, but even his thick wolfen fur could not stop the branches from tearing at his muzzle and one of his eyes oozed from a deep cut. The pair ran, following no path. Before she realized what had happened, Sieca was running alone, a deep howl rang through the fog and darkness, and she knew Rissick was gone. Salt stung her eyes, but there was no time for emotion as she raced on, pushing through the darkness. Without warning, the grasping trees stopped, and she ran full into a marshy clearing, falling to her knees, splashing fetid water onto her frail and bleeding form. The thick, foul sludge was enough to make her eyes water and nearly caused her to wretch. She pulled her head up and stared in disbelief at the scene before her eyes. Her dear friend, her once childhood love, held the bloodied body of a dark haired, inhumanly beautiful woman in his arms, a wicked smile curling about his lips. He dropped her form unceremoniously, and stalked toward Sieca. Defiantly she raised her chin, her deep green eyes meeting his cold orbs. Orbs that were both steel gray.
Confusion pierced her mind, too many things did not make sense. Had this Jareth killed the mortal woman now at his feet? Why were his eyes both gray? What was he doing standing in the middle of a marsh in Goddess knows where? Her thoughts were cut short, he was upon her. "Tell me my sweet little Sieca, do you still cry for your mother? Do you still dream of your father? Do you honestly think of me, Jareth, Lord of the Labyrinth, as a kind and generous ruler? Sieca, Sieca, Sieca, what the Labyrinth wants, the Labyrinth gets." Her mind reeled. His voice wasn't right, it was harder, darker, more of a rasp than Jareth's elegant speech, though she had not heard his voice since she was so very young, she would never forget his elegant speech – no, something was amiss. He gripped her chin in his black gloved hands roughly, hands that were slick with the blood of the woman who now lay crumbled at the base of a tree. For the first time, she noticed the tree, a twisting malformed unnatural thing, blacker than the pitch of the night, it stood against the darkness as a shadow of midnight. "I will tell you a secret, pet. Staring into the heart of darkness is a sure way to be consumed by it. But if you're good, I won't let it hurt you too much." Kissing her forehead, the Jareth-like fae strode back to the tree, and placed his hands upon it. Whisping smoke trailed itself from the twisted branches of the deadened formation and wound thick tendrils around the man, finding their way into his mouth in a sickly ethereal kiss. All Sieca could do was take in the ghastly scene, shock and horror etched across her face, as the creature turned back to face her full.
"Oh you are so naughty, sister, so naughty indeed. Why didn't you tell me? Tsk tsk tsk." As it walked towards her, Sieca's horror was complete. The veins running the length of the Jareth's neck and face were all ink black, creating the appearance of cracked flesh, and where once cold eyes has stared back at her, now only pools of darkness bored into her. The ground she knelt upon began to solidify under her, locking her in place. "The prophecy, you are weaved into it somehow. Now we cannot have that, can we? Pity." He reached her, staring down at her prone form, he smiled wickedly, lifeless orbs locked with hers. In his hand, a crystal appeared, the color of polished steel, he turned it once and in its place, a bone dagger appeared. He sank to her level, staring her in the eyes, brandishing the edge of the alabaster blade.
In a flash, he was knocked back, Rissick tearing at his clothing, the giant wolf's fangs tearing into the shoulder of the Jareth. The friend she thought dead had bought her time. Struggling to free herself, Sieca wrenched her right arm free of the quagmire and prepared to call forth a spell that would aid her wounded friend who was losing the fight, growing weaker by the moment. As she prepared to cast the spell, the world darkened around her, the only thing left visible, was tree, blacker than darkness, the shadow of mindnight.
Sieca awoke in a cold sweat, Rissick beside her, his icy eyes remaining fixed on the entrance to the cave. With a deep sigh, she sat up, pulling her cloak tighter. The dreams were becoming more frequent, more real. Somehow or another, she was tied to this, tied to Jareth, to the unearthly beautiful mortal woman, and to whatever that thing was. Now all she had to do was sort everything out. Things were never as they seemed in this place, and good and evil were simply a matter of perspective. She rose, keeping her cloak tight to fight off the chill, and walked to the entrance, Rissick beside her. She looked down upon the ivory temple, resolution transfixed in her gaze. One way or another, tomorrow she would get her answers.